The Hunt Through Many Eyes
by Mark-Kris Robin Lancer
Summary: Twas a long night, that fateful night, in a long chain of long nights. Perhaps, we should witness what had transpired, through the many eyes of both the living and the dead, shall we not? (Features all characters, enemies and NPCs... and more.)
1. Nereus, the Last Friend

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bloodborne. I wish I owned a game though.**

* * *

"Do you drive to Yharnam, sir?"

The driver looked at the young man who inquired that with surprise. "That's a very long way, sir. I need a considerable amount of money in order to make such a trip."

Pity that carriage was the only way to reach the grand, old city. One would figure such a renown city could be accessed by railway now.

The other man pulled out a bag of money. It was a bit modest in size compared with the others that possess much more, but with how earnest his eyes were, it would be hard not to accept it. "Here."

The driver eyed him up and down. The clothes on his back were rather plain-looking and drab, yet the young man stood up with a pride of sorts, as if he was wearing a Sunday's best outfit. He seemed not to have any luggage at all. "That all you have?"

The young man nodded slowly. "I still have a few left, but I'm saving that for when I get to Yharnam. They don't have a different sort of currency, don't they?"

The driver chuckled and took the money. "No, it's all the same, although they barter and trade more than anything like our commerce. Give me a couple of minutes, and I'll be with you. Seeing as you have nothing on you, I'll get you some provisions as well."

True to his word, at around a quarter of an hour he came back with a sack of necessities. He set it down at the back of the carriage and offered a hand to the young man, who refused firmly. And attempted, attempted to climb into the coach himself.

The driver wasn't sure to make of this pitiful sight. Here he was, simply standing and watching a young man, who moved like he was 80 years old, who refused any help at all slowly, and painfully, hoist himself up into the carriage. It seemed as if the gods had struck his limbs, cursed them to a frailty that only the elderly should dare suffer from. Still, every time he tried to offer his help, he shook his head and attempted to hoist himself up. The driver wasn't sure if those were tears of frustration or a sparkle of pride in his eyes. Maybe an odd mixture of both.

The afflicted man was finally able to enter the carriage, and the driver closed the door for him before he could protest against so. He sat onto the driver's seat and lightly held the reins in his hands. With scarce the need for much of his instruction, the horses began the two-week long trek to this miraculous city of Yharnam. Hopefully, the man now still inside the carriage can receive the healing he needs.

The stranger looked out of the window and waved at a figure that the driver didn't register before, who was waving back. As the city slowly disappeared from their sight, the driver sighed. His poor horses were being overworked and malnourished, with how he saw them heave their breaths with every step, how their eyes looked dead and lifeless. It chilled him to the core, and he swore to himself that he will feed them something nice and warm and rub them down properly.

His customer was rather quiet, having yet to say a word once he entered the carriage. He heard nothing inside the compartment, and with the little luggage he carried, it took a bit of a mental strain to remember that he had a paying man that he and his poor steeds had to serve for a bit of a while.

They stopped for the night at a village a ways out. The early autumn air chilled the driver's bones as he neared the local inn, doing his best supporting his rather stubborn customer who did his best to refuse the help in as well. He has already paid, and the horses situated well enough that their hooves won't be frozen off by daybreak and are still well-fed and well-rested. The two-week journey won't do any of them much good in the way of health, at least for the driver and his horses. Hopefully, the stranger can fair better once he reaches Yharnam.

After a fairly warm meal in a neighboring tavern, the driver rose with the other man, pushing their seats in and thanked the people who took their dirty dishes away. That dinner had been spent in silence, no sound coming from either of them save for the various noises of food being eaten and drinks being drank.

It was probably because his customer was so tired that he allowed the driver to support him back to his room.

"Your key?"

"It's on me. Don't worry about that." The arm that was previously slung over the driver's shoulders detached itself. The stranger, although quiet, smiled at him. "Thank you, and goodnight."

Just before he closed the door, the driver just realized that he had never gotten his name, for some odd reason. Maybe his quietness had made him forget such a basic form of courtesy? "Excuse me sir, but I believe we have yet to introduce ourselves. My name is Nereus Sullivan."

The other looked back, leaning on the wall. "Chase Schovajsa."

Nereus blinked and rubbed his head in confusion. "Don't expect me to pronounce that, Mister Chase."

"I didn't even ask you to do so." They shared wry smiles and turned in for the night.

* * *

"My father is Czech, my mother an Englishwoman," Chase clarified as they got on the carriage. The window partitioning them was open, allowing them to talk with relatively few obstacles. "He moved to England when he was still a 'young lad' and fell in love with my mother while there."

Nereus smiled to himself, turning on a curve. "You already sound like you have some rich family history."

The other man laughed without humor. "It's just stories of people from a hundred years ago now long-gone, not some old, noble family bloodline. It's nothing remarkable. What about you, sir?"

"I don't know. I've been parentless as far as I know."

Chase's smile immediately fell. "I'm sorry to hear that. Your surname…"

"Sullivan is a pretty common one, and I picked it up to make the business seem more… professional," Nereus explained, slowing the carriage down as they went over a small bridge. "I've been doing this for ten years now." He chuckled to himself. "It's a shame that I'm in my thirties and I still don't have a wife to call my own."

"Oh, don't worry about that. I think being a bachelor is quite splendid. You get to have a freedom that you won't experience if you have a wife," Chase reassured him.

"How old are you?"

"I just turned twenty-one."

Nereus nodded and hummed to himself. "What's your occupation?" he asked, reaching a railroad track. He hated how some of the country roads intersect with the rail lines. It was appalling and unprofessional, as least in his viewpoint.

"I was an artist."

"Was?" He crossed the tracks and continued forwards.

"Once I come back from Yharnam, I'll pick that right back up again."

* * *

Over the next two weeks, they had time to be acquainted with each other. Chase liked coffee more than tea, and was once part of a gang, although he left once his older sister had to bail him out of trouble with the police. He made most of his money by selling his art (Nereus had the privilege of looking at some of his sketches in a notebook he always carried) and lived with said older sister on her charity, since their family had kicked him out. His sister was a gunsmith, and her services, while making some men dubious, was very popular, especially with the poorer people.

He wanted to come to Yharnam to cure his arthritis. He wanted to come to Yharnam to get his life back.

Nereus could understand that.

It turns out, Yharnam looked like nothing more than yet another smoke-choked city. He was getting tired of the sight, and he was reminded of his far-fetched fantasy to buy a piece of land far off in the middle of nowhere and live there peacefully with his horses for the rest of his life.

"I expected such a city containing a cure-all remedy to be… better," the driver commented as they neared a tunnel. He looked down next to him, noticing the grim road where he looked. "That's Hemwick Charnel Lane. I've heard that witches live there, so it's best for you to stay clear of it," he pointed out and warned.

"I don't believe in witches," Chase stated flatly, looking out of the window.

"A lot of legends have been founded upon truth. Besides, it looks unnaturally gloomy, won't you agree?" He reasoned, just entering the tunnel. He could feel his horses' apprehension that he shared with them. He wasn't sure about how Chase felt.

Dawn just broke as they reached the gates of the city. Despite the entirety of the world being industrialized, Yharnam was still a shockingly archaic city.

There was something of its atmosphere that made the entire party wary. "Well…" Nereus drifted off, frowning a bit.

The carriage door opened and Chase slowly got off by himself. "Thank you." He looked towards the grim afternoon sky.

"Stay safe," the driver found himself saying. "How about a drink once you get back?"

"That sounds splendid."

They spared one last smile for each other as other people clamored onto his carriage, demanding him to take them to whichever place, village, town, city.

It would be a long, long night.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 **Nereus is a hastily made up OC that you'll never see again. _Ever_.**

 **Meanwhile, you'll see a lot more from Chase. In fact, this entire thing won't be just about the story of Bloodborne, but also of Chase's story. I quite like how I made him, and it's probably too early to say this since I'm so young, but as of now, I consider him to be my _magnum opus_.**

 **Any feedback is greatly appreciated.**


	2. The Blood Minister

**Disclaimer: Still don't got Bloodborne. Still ain't mine.**

* * *

Somehow, somehow Iosefka had allowed the old Blood Minister to enter her clinic and let him wait for a new client. She didn't ask him who it was. She just simply, and sadly, sighed and closed the door behind her that lead to the inner workings of the clinic.

He sighed, put his hands together on his lap, and patiently waited on his wheelchair for the newest patient.

An outsider, apparently. That makes the job even easier. At least, that's what he told himself. He had no idea if any more Hunters dream any longer. He just did his best and try to recruit new ones, or else Yharnam would be done for, and that was a result he wished to never happen.

Was it already too late? He suspected the end was already here. His feet tapped nervously, his fingers fondling with the one tool from his past that he still held dear, even after all of these long, long years… These long years of studying, of waiting, although waiting for what he wasn't entirely sure.

There was a soft knocking on the door and it slowly creaked open. There was only one other patient in the immediate vicinity, who was sleeping quietly in the other room, fortunately for the outsider. "Hello?" His accent was very strange indeed. The Blood Minister could only imagine what hell he went through as he traversed through Yharnam to get to the clinic.

"I am here," he announced, wheeling himself into view, hopefully. "Please close the door behind you."

The outsider nodded nervously, doing as he said, and walked towards him. His footsteps were slow, and he suspected it was as such not just because of cautiousness.

He waved his hand towards a hospitable bed (which was as clean as Iosefka could manage), wheeling away to allow the outsider space. "Please lie down. The transfusion will begin shortly."

The bed creaked. Everything about this man seems to be exceedingly slow, from walking, to breathing, to responding.

"What is your ailment?" he asked, out of curiosity. He organized the tools: a blood bag, some bandages, a needle; a finger gently stroked the last tool in his lap.

"Arthritis," the other said without ceremony. He seemed to even be ashamed of his condition, not unlike how a person with leprosy might be in the old, old days.

A man so young, to have an infliction that only the old can bear? He must be kidding. But the way that he said it, with much grief… the Blood Minister could only sigh and shake his head as he neared him. "Very well then. But first… you need to sign a contract, with all of your information included as well," he instructed, handing the man a piece of parchment and a pen. There were more sounds of shuffling, most likely him sitting up. After a few short moments of the scritch-scratch of pen across paper, both were back in his hands.

"All signed and sealed," he confirmed, smiling just a bit as he set everything down. He didn't need much materials: a vaguely clean cloth, the oh-so-precious blood, and of course, his tools. "Whatever may happen next, you may think of it all nothing more than a mere bad dream…"

He felt for that one certain spot, the largest artery, and carely, slowly, pressed the needle deep beneath the skin. He heard ragged breathing, and once the vial was depleted, he set it down and reached for the tools instead. He could still hear its arcane hum, if he concentrated on it hard enough. He pressed the rod on his neck and heard the man hiss, doing a remarkable job in resisting the pain. Once that also was done, he laid the precious tools, worth more than an endless sea of blood to him, in cloth and wrapped it up, then wheeled himself up into an isolated room.

The outsider can take care of himself. He was now a Hunter, after all.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **They're usually short. Also, you'll never see such quick updates anymore.**

 **There's a theory somewhere that the Blood Minister is actually Caryll. That's what I based this off of. Who else can give you a rune of technical immortality while not being an Old One, huh?**

 **Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.**


	3. The Beast

Disclaimer: Bloodborne ain't mine. Neither is FromSoft.

* * *

 **The flesh, oh, how wonderful it is. It/he hasn't tasted such a delight since the dawn of its/his own existence. It is nary a feast, but much quieter than the burning streets. It/he didn't need to think here, but eat, in silence, all alone.**

 **Blood dribbles down from its/his maw and pools around the fresh-kill. His heart still beats, and it/he has the extra joy to clamp down on the tough organ, teeth grinding together, sinking deep as more addicting fluid rushes out.**

 **Footsteps. Closer. Stumbling.**

 **Silence.**

 **Creaking of the wood. Hiccuping breaths. Dry mouth swallowing.**

 _ **Fear.**_

"H-hello?"

 **Fresh-blood.**

 **It/he pauses, looking up. Through the darkness, a thin man stands, too thin to be of any good.**

 **But he didn't smell of incense, like the blood it/he feasts upon now. Everyone tastes like incense, smells of the rank smoke and sickly sweet pink wisps. But this one didn't. And he possesses the exotic allure of a stranger too!**

 **It/he growls as the man approaches closer. Two hands come out in vain defense as its/his haunches tense. Breathing as one. Breathing as two. A growl for another meal, gluttonous and drunk on good fortune. A held-back whimper, quivering lips, wide eyes.**

 **It/he can't wait any longer. So close, why so far? A roar and a leap, yet the human dodges. Hearts beat faster, one in fear and the other in excitement. The chase! Oh, how it sings to its/his soul.**

 **It/he swipes left, and the person crashes into a bed, slips on the slick boards, hurried breathing hastening, more ragged, his from fear, its/his own from lust. Bloodlust. Lovely, how the darkness shines in the light of his eyes. Brown, like earth. Frail body. Thin arms. Shortened, dark hair, easier to dig into his skull for that juicy, jelly-like brain, pleasantly bitter like… like… like…**

 **It/he remembers not its now-foreign relation, and cares not that it/he remembers not.**

 **A roaring cry and a leap, and claws meet purchase with flesh. Blood sprays across everywhere, and _oh his blood was almost virgin_ , just freshly tainted with the blood of his own kind. A guttural sound erupts from its throat, a borderline human moan and beastly sigh. So sweet, so sweet, oh how his essence delights in it, soaking in its scent.**

 **It leaves the human in a deeper state of confusion and horror as the walking terror delights in nothing more than the whiff of his innards, something that it/he doesn't ignore. If beasts could grin, than it/he gave a wide and excited one, showcasing too many teeth to fit in one mouth.**

 **It was over quickly, disappointingly quickly, the few hits lain upon it/him hardly doing anything at all. Were humans ever able to fade away to dust? It/he sniffs at the air, trying to taste his prey's pure scent one more time, but only taking hold of a pale whiff of the pleasant aroma. It/he whined, and returned to its messy meal.**

 **It/he would like to have even a lick of that human once again.**

* * *

 **A soft hum rings as it/he finishes an arm, crunching through bone to drink in its marrow. Splayed fingers still stuck out as it/he raises its head. The thin man was back? How?**

 **Its/his hackles rises, then its/his excitement. It/he can taste him once more! Feast, feast, feast upon such a delightful human!**

 **It/he pounces at the human without a second of hesitation, too eager for another taste, yet the human avoids him.**

 **What is it in his hands?**

 **The bite of the blade soon lets him know. It/he roars in rage. Who is this tiny frail thing, to fight back when it/he is to dine upon such a scrumptious morsel! It/he rears its/his head back to snap at him, but the human dodges again, the searing pain of serrated segments flaring upon its/his snout. It/he restrains a whine and steps back, observing this prey that finally becomes a true threat.**

 _ **Die. Blood. Outsider. Blade.**_

 **The whip of teeth strikes at it/him again, taking along fur, blood and flesh. The human was afraid still, but another feeling dominates his fear, crushes it down, couples itself with desperation and scraps back like a cornered beast.**

 _ **Determination. What an annoyance.**_

 **It/he leaps once again, swiping, claws raking nothing but air and a few strands of hair if it/he is lucky. The tip of the blade digs deep into its/his flank as it/he howls out in pain. Paws smash together on blood-slicked floorboards, splintering under the force. Still no fresh-kill, save for the decaying corpse lying forgotten at the side.**

 **With frustration, it/he strikes out one last time, eyes shining and sight hazy in bloodlust, but it/he falls short under a rain of serrated segments, crumpling, gone, in a pile of flayed flesh, blood, pelt and bone.**

* * *

A/N:

Chose to keep the stuff outside of the actual writing in normal font because reading everything that's in bold is gonna tire my eyes (at least) out and make everything look really wonky.

I really enjoyed writing this piece. I swear, I'm not psycho.

Any and all feedback is appreciated.

Keep note: constantly changing POV's are a thing here, an I just published this from the school's computer. Yeah. Apparently, they're chill with fanfiction.


	4. Iosefka, the Fleeting Clinician

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Nothing.**

* * *

Iosefka was safe behind a cheap door and the smoke of incense, peering out of her curtained window on the door to see a figure. The person shakes slightly and knocks softly.

"You… are a Hunter, aren't you?" she answered, slowly approaching the doorway.

"I-I… suppose so?" The person replied timidly. He was a man, and from the shadowy silhouette on the curtain, he was thin, and so very much afraid. He must be new to the Hunt, then.

"Then do you understand why I mustn't open this door? I am so terribly sorry," she apologized. Iosefka felt deep pity for this newcomer, most likely a foreigner to Yharnam. She heard a soft sigh behind the door and wracked her head for anything that she might do to help him.

"I… I don't have much to offer, but here, have this." The doctor opened the door just a bit and slid out a vial. It was her own blood, as she once provided the healing blood from herself before opening her clinic. The man caught it quickly and has most likely inspected the faded label on its side. "My name is Iosefka. I really appreciate all you do for us, really, I do. It's just… I mustn't have my patients ill from the plague as well. You do understand, right?"

There was a small moment of silence before the silhouette nodded. "I… I think I understand. Thank you very much." It didn't sound like he understood, but he was grateful, something that she could tell, at the very least.

She smiled a smile that the stranger will never see. "I pray for a good, fruitful hunt for you," she assured.

"Thank you, Miss Iosefka." Fading footsteps were the only evidence to his departure. The doctor sighed and walked away from the door. It was hardly evening, and already the Hunters were busy at work. And what was she doing? Sitting by dying, mad patients, awaiting the end.

* * *

"Miss Iosefka? Are you still well?"

She recognized that voice. It was stronger now, not quite as timid. Touched by the concern of the stranger, she answered back just as kindly. "I am fine. I'm very glad to know that you are still well and alive. Here, take this if you need any more." She slid another vial out to him, which he swept back up quickly from the ground. "Has my small gift helped you in any way?"

"Yes, yes it has," he replied almost immediately. "Thank you very much, but…I don't mean to look at a gift horse's mouth; I have a question," he said, a soft ruffle of clothing telling her that he had pocketed the precious blood.

"Ask ahead."

"Why are you so kind to me? Everyone else here… forgive me, _almost_ everyone here is extremely xenophobic, and yet you and another kind man…" he trailed off, his voice constrained in bewilderment and increasing shyness.

She could only smile a smile that he could never see in return. "You are a fellow human being, am I right? And you are new here too. It's only natural for me to care for you as best as I can so you may survive the night," the doctor reassured him.

Silence hung as the silhouette on the door stood stock-still, then a hand went up and gently pressed itself, palm-down, on the door. "I…" His voice was now choked-up, trying to continued until Iosefka decided to intervene and hush him softly.

"Sh, it's alright. You don't need to say a word. Pray tell, what may your name be?" she asked.

"It's Chase, Miss Iosefka. Chase..." he hesitated, as if he couldn't quite say his surname. He quickly dropped and, awkwardly continuing. "Ah, also, I have a short favor to ask of you: there is a man living in central Yharnam, and he has a very grave disease right now. May you be able to help him the next morning?"

"Of course," she answered. "That is, if I'm not too busy. I'll never know; these Hunts are becoming worse and worse every night. Be careful as well, Chase, when you venture out. I pray for a successful hunt for you."

The hand was now off the door, and the shadow dipped down just a bit. Did he just… bow? "Stay safe as well, Miss Iosefka."

She watched as his dark outline slowly faded away.

* * *

She found herself almost expecting his visits now. He was an uncharacteristically kind man, and in nature along with sound. She could almost see the smile he must surely bear every time he visited her.

"Miss Iosefka?"

And speak of the devil, he doth come.

"Yes? Chase, is it?" she replied back, almost excitedly. Nary a few hours had passed, and already they spoke like old friends, to her pleasant surprise.

"Yes. If it's not a bother, would you happen to have any more blood to spare?" He passed her a few coins to further along her incentive to help him, not like she needed any help for that anyways.

Laughing, she pushed the coins back under the door along with another vial of her blood. "No need to pay. Please, accept this as a gift from me. In all honesty, your presence alone is payment enough," she said, looking around to see if their conversation was too loud. From the appearance of the slumbering patients, they both were entirely fine. "You sound much better right now," she remarked.

"Pardon me?" Oops, he does have a reason to be confused now, doesn't he?

"Well, you sound much stronger, more confident. I pray for a successful hunt for such a brave Hunter you are."

Even if it was only a chuckle, she felt a torrent of happiness rush through her first experience of hearing the stranger-not-stranger laugh.

* * *

This time, the good doctor was alerted towards the door by two men talking, one of them which she immediately recognized as Chase. Did he bring a friend this time?

"- her. A really nice lady, right?" That wasn't him.

"Indeed. In such a grim city, I'm eternally grateful for her presence. And yours." That was him.

"Good evening, Chase. Who is it with you?" Iosefka asked, fingering another bottle. She wasn't worried to run out: there were plenty of surplus back from her Blood Saint days.

"Ah. He's a new friend-"

"The name's Jabez!" The other announced, his voice much louder and more joyous than his companion's. The sudden introduction was a bit jarring for her.

She heard a hiss behind the door and some laughing that was not Chase's (a shame).

"I apologize for his weirdness-"

"You're the weird one, Arty."

Arty?

"How many times will I have to tell you to stop calling me that? Who get's a nickname from their profession alone?"

"Well, actually…"

The two began bickering behind the door, just harmless banter between two friends, and the good doctor bit down her jealousy and rolled the vial beneath the door.

Silence followed.

"Thank you, Iosefka. I will never forget your kindness," Chase thanked.

"You are always welcome. Your friend's presence is enjoyable as well." Not. "Would you fancy a moment to come and visit me upon dawn? I would like to put a face to the kind man I met this evening."

A soft "oooooh" followed, and someone tumbled down the stairs. Maybe Jabez. Hopefully Jabez.

"Apologies. Although there's never a dull moment with him, he is a bit of a handful," Chase said, chuckling a bit. It sounded like a choir's aria to her, and the good sort of choir, not the Choir.

"It is fine. I pray for a good Hunt for you, Chase."

"And I hope for a restful night for you."

Her sight may or may not have lingered on his fading shadow upon the door too much.

* * *

She looked up while organizing her shelves, hearing footsteps resonate throughout the clinic.

That was odd. No one here wore boots, last she remembered.

"Hello. What is your name?"

She turned around in fright, staring at the face of another woman that looked eerily similar to her, from her pale skin to her combed-back blond hair. "I-I am Iosefka, keeper of this establishment. How did you even get in here?!" With shaking hands, she brought out a paltry knife, laughable pathetic as with a swing from her cane-whip, it clattered to the side.

"Don't trouble yourself with such a worry."

Nothing.

* * *

 _burning. burning cold. blue._

 _sounds, clump-clump-clump, closer._

 _garbled mess. mortal speech._

 _hands out, attack._

 _miss. try again._

 _strike. head, pain._

 _bliss._

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **I just exploded my significant other's phone with fangirling over Bloodborne. Is that alright? (Of course it's alright, at least it's not that weeb game whose acronym is just the chemical symbol for iron that I still really love even though it's been forever since I've last played it pfffffffffffft)**

 **Reviews are always appreciated!**


	5. Gilbert, Critically Ill Man

**Disclaimer: Bloodborne, FromSoft. Chase, kinda-not-really-mine-ish.**

* * *

Another night. Another Hunt. Another period of time to sit idly by the window, light the incense, and try and not be afraid. Hold the book close to himself and read from it, ignore the growling beasts, cough as softly as possible, and wait. Wait quietly, patiently, for death. Try and create a semblance of peace within this maelstrom of death and blood.

A knock on his window stirred him from his insincere reading, but Gilbert did his best to ignore it.

Except, the knocking was so… human.

"Hello?" he called out before he could stop himself.

"Hello?" a voice echoed back, stronger than his.

He hobbled over to the window, chair and all, and peered through it. A lone figure in the shape of a man, holding a cane that was definitely more than it seemed on one hand and a simple flintlock pistol, still fresh and hardly-used. His accent and clothing was strange, just like his own, and his heart warmed at the small discovery.

"I am Gilbert, an outsider like you. You must be a new Hunter, then?" he asked. The window was doing a great job muffling each of their voices, but unfortunately, he had no way to open it.

"Yes, I am," the stranger answered back. "My name is Chase. It's a pleasure to meet you, Gilbert."

"Oh, it is all mine. The locals didn't treat you too harshly, did you?"

"They were… a handful." They chuckled together.

"I'm afraid I cannot be of too much help to you now, but I will do what I can. However, I must advise you: leave this city while you still can." There was a silence from the other side. Something urged him to continue. "This place is cursed and can do nothing but harm to you. Whatever it is that you came here, it's not-" His ominous warning was cut off by his own violent hacking, although he did his best to tone it down, more for the Hunter's sake than his own.

"Mister…" The silhouette of a hand was placed upon his window, a familiar, human shape, and he couldn't help but put his cleaner hand right up to it, the other one bloody against his lips. Funnily enough, they were of the same size.

He smiled to himself. It was a welcome sight, and he absentmindedly let his hand rest there, against the window, matching perfectly with a stranger's outline. "Please, just Gilbert." He stifled another round of coughing.

"You… Are you ill?"

He waved a hand at the window that held beyond it a caring voice that touched him deeply… or perhaps he was becoming soft. Not that it mattered anyways; it felt good. "Don't mind it. 'Tis better I die a man than a beast."

"But I thought-"

"Does a cure-all seem too good for truth, my friend?" Gilbert said this with an unseen, coy smile on his bloody lips and a hoarser voice, dripping with regret.

"I… I suppose." The Hunter seemed to bite back his thoughts. "Well… I hope your passing might be peaceful, perhaps under daylight."

They croaked out laughs together, laced with dread. "Oh, that might be the greatest blessing ever given to me!" he remarked out loud. He wasn't kidding when he said that. At this point, to die as a man under the shining sun… it will be the most blissful thing in the world since the innocence of his youth.

"Heh."

Silence took over between them, and his footsteps began to fade away when they suddenly stopped, then rushed over to his window side once again.

"Oh, I almost forgot! Have you heard of Paleblood?" Chase asked.

He didn't recognize the word at all.

"No... but it might do you well to visit the Healing Church. It is they who hold the most knowledge of blood, as well as blood ministration. Go to East Yharnam, beyond the valley, and there lies the Cathedral Ward, and within it, the church itself." He was cut off by his own ear-searing coughs, hacking out globs of… well, he didn't think on it, wiping his darkened hands on the filthy cloth that laid across his lap. "It's… It's also where the secret of the blood was first found, or so the hearsay is… normally, no one would let outsiders like us inside, but since tonight is a Hunting night, and you are a Hunter... Yes, yes, you can absolutely reach there." He took several breaths down as his once-convulsing chest slowed to a more tolerable pace. Yes, yes, calm, just like this.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." The Hunter voiced his gratitude as his hand went to the window again. Doing the same with his own hand, flat against the similarly-shaped silhouette, Gilbert so wanted to touch a human hand just one more time.

"You are always welcome… perhaps the city might not think so, but your company is always welcome with me."

And with that, he quietly parted with a soft good-bye, leaving him all alone.

The growling of beasts and the crackling of fire began to ring inside his head, overbearingly loud, haunting his every waking moment.

* * *

"Gilbert?"

He could have almost managed to fall into the softness of sleep if it wasn't for the intruding voice. He blinked his eyes against his quickly-fading grogginess and failed to recognize the person behind this rude voice.

"Gilbert? Are you alright?"

He moved his chair over until he realized that it was already next to the window.

Oops. A slip of the mind.

"Oh. I… my apologies. I didn't wake you, didn't I?"

A familiar figure, now slightly covered with blood and wearing garments akin to what most Yharnamites would wear on a Hunt, stood at the other side of the window. Gilbert found his hat to be particularly fashionable. Still, he had the same accent, and ever the same weaponry and disposition.

"Hello, Chase. No, I was never asleep."

He can't bring himself to be grumpy towards the outsider Hunter. They were far too kind with each other for such trivial bitterness.

"Oh, thank goodness. I found a way that might reach to the church, but after fighting a huge beast… a 'cleric beast', I think it's called, on a rather large bridge, the door was locked on the other side, and I have yet to find a key for it yet," he spoke with a hint of annoyance in it.

Oh. Apparently, when he moved his chair wasn't the only thing he forgot about.

"My apologies," Gilbert quickly apologized. "It slipped my mind… of course the great bridge is closed; it's always closed on night of the hunt…" He sat in thought, a hand to his chin, in the classical "thinking position" (something his old friends used to always tease him about, oh how he misses them), until an idea reached him. "Oh!" He might have snapped his fingers if he thought he had the strength to do so. "You can go through the aqueducts!"

Unfortunately, his sudden outburst was met with his own loud protesting in the guise of violent hacking, and it took a while for it to die down. Nevertheless, Chase waited patiently by the window. He wondered how pitiful he might look if he looked in a mirror.

… Let's _not_ look at a mirror.

"Are you alright, Gilbert?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," he reassured. "It happens all the time." He can't ever grow properly used to it, however. "Yes, there's an aqueduct that, if I remember correctly, leads straight to the Cathedral Ward. To the south side of the bridge is where you can find an opening to it." He made a much smaller cough, one where it didn't feel like it outright rattled his ribs. "It's an unorthodox route, but there's not much of a choice, I imagine. Am I right?"

"That, you are." Gilbert could almost see Chase smiling at him through the window. A hand reached up to the window, one that he could meet almost perfectly. "Thank you for all that you do, Gilbert."

"You're welcome."

Was this becoming their characteristic farewell gesture, he wondered.

* * *

If worst comes to worst, he had a flamesprayer…

A flamesprayer that he had no more fuel for, God damn it. It now sits at the floor of his miserable room, collecting dust and rust, to await the end of it all like how he now is.

That doesn't erase its former usefulness, however. Once upon a time, it served a greater purpose in different hands with much more effectiveness, burning down swaths of beasts and the occasional unfortunate human right and left, until he became sick on the stench of burning flesh and of the wailing screams that punctured the tainted evening sky.

Just remembering the burning was enough to send him into yet another fitful round of coughs. It felt like ash was sticking onto his lungs, choking him up, sending to the underworld deep down below, if there was an afterlife of any sort -

"Gilbert, I'm here."

It was Chase, this time his voice soft, not in shyness, but rather in gentleness.

He painfully situated himself to the window and held his hand up. A hand, now seemingly much larger than his own, enveloped his with its own shadow.

For just a moment, he felt a tiny bit safer, even as the city he grew too familiar with gave way to the darkness of night.

"Hello, Chase. Is your hunting going well?"

"Yes, very! I…" There was a pause in his words, as if holding something back. "I-it's been going along better than I thought it would."

Their hands fell away from the windowsill. Gilbert laid his own across his lap and looked to the side. The flamesprayer sat in the darkness, reflecting just the barest glint of moonlight back at him. He breathed in deeply, forcing back another string of coughs that threatened to plague him, resolve ringing in his head.

He knew what to do now.

To part ways with his past and gift a fellow Hunter with all the good he has left… yes. This is what he needed to do.

"Gilbert, I found a safe haven for you! It's within the Cathedral Ward, and the dweller inside is welcoming anyone that can come to his place, if they're able to. There are vast amounts of incense, so much so that not even the bravest beast would dare venture inside," Chase's voice carried through the chaotic air to his ears, as if all other sounds became insignificant and muted to him. He could almost cry from this pure display of human benevolence, if he had any tears left.

Ah… how should he tell him this?

He let out a constrained chuckle, let his fingers find their place under the window-frame, and slowly did his best to open his window. After being left alone for so long, stuck with grime and smut from the city ashes, it protested heavily against this disruption of its supposedly natural state. "Don't worry for me, friend," he wheezed out. "It can't be helped, really. But… Aagh!" With a loud, heaving groan from both opposite sides of the window (it seems to be that Chase was kind enough to help him from this side, despite of the bars between them), it was finally open, just enough to slip his old hunter's tool through.

He practically scrambled for the old thing. It clanked ominously when he mishandled it in his desperate grab, and he rushed back to his last connection to the outside world and dumped it through the bars. A grunt was heard from the outside, and no metal clattering rang out afterwards. He surely had good reflexes.

"Make good use of this, please. I never had a chance to wield it properly myself-" He was, annoyingly, cut off by his own hacking coughs.

"Gilbert! Please, don't talk too much." Fear was in his friend's voice, a compassionate fear that was alien to this city. He smiled to himself as he wiped the blood off his mouth.

"I'm only afraid of speaking too little," he rasped his best assurance. "I was afflicted with something incurable, but the miraculous blood bought me time. It's a small hope, but hope nonetheless. Just enough time to see the sunrise." He slid the window back down, which it was more than happy to return to its automatic, natural state. The word 'hopefully' faded at his lips, and he looked down, casting his eyes back to the shadows beneath him, the shadows that wreathed itself across his frail body, until it seemed that he became with the filthy darkness.

"Gilbert…"

"Please, just go." He didn't care to hide his hacking coughs anymore that racked his body apart.

The hand at the other side of the window was painfully slow to fade away.

* * *

Gilbert's tears fell before he realized it. Then, he cupped his gaping mouth with his hands, choked sobs leaking out with his weakening cries. He tasted the soft, liquid salt flowing into his open mouth and the iron edge stuck to his teeth, and he knew…

Oh, he knew…

"Why… Why now? Why me?"

Terror. Terror, and fear. Terror, and fear, and pain. Terror, and fear, and pain, and panic. Terror, fear, pain, panic, and whatever dark thoughts, all snatching away pieces of his loudly beating heart, faster and faster and faster…

"Please… please, oh please…"

Can't hear, can't see except red, smell incense, sickly sweet incense, twisting inside, pain pain _pain pain pain **pain pain pain painpainpainpainpainpainpainbloodpainbloodpainbloodpainbloodpainbloodpainbloodpainbloodpa**_

" _ **save me…**_ "

 _ **painbloodpainbloodpainblood**_

" _ **someone save me please…**_ "

 _ **bloodpainbloodpainbloodpain**_

" _ **please won't someone save me**_!"

And then, amidst the faraway whisper (notheywerecriestheysoundfamiliarhangonhangonGilbertwhycanyounothangon), he heard a loud, inhuman roar.

It was too close.

* * *

Chase was frozen.

He stared at the furred corpse, eerily similar to the small, quick beasts that prowled in the smoke and fires of Yharnam, who backed away with pathetic whines at the sight of the flame from his torch, and despite the insanity of this night, he found himself quick to shed tears of just _pure sadness_.

He looked back up at that window, torn asunder from the inside out, as if the inhabitant grew weary of living any more in such a confined anymore.

Could he take any more of this?

 _He never even had a chance to see the sunrise._

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **aaaaaaye lmao no boifran**

 **I love Transistor. Do you? Play Transistor, it's such a beautiful game. Play the songs at my funeral please, along with Alex Roe's "I Had a Name."**

 **This was sitting in my docs for a long time and I had no idea what to do with it, and then I reread Fulgadrum's "Moon and Tide." I can't recommend that Dishonored/Bloodborne crossover fanfiction enough! It's on AO3, by the way.**

 **Very painfully aware that Gilbert will talk about Byrgenwerth at one point, but I can imagine that he'll only say something if prompted, but otherwise... well, Chase here has certain aspects of himself concerning... just education in general.**


End file.
